


A Special Place In Hell

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathrooms, Blow Jobs, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dinner, Facials, Freeform, Harry Potter Next Generation, Holyhead Harpies, Infidelity, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Slight Authority Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: Dinner with the Potter's is tedious at the best of times and Draco thanks Merlin - and Morgana, come to think of it - that his son has decided not to attend this particular gathering. He has enough on his mind as it is... like the joke Mrs. Potter tosses out that Draco doesn't quite catch, or Astoria's laughter, or the tinkling of glass and the clatter of cutlery.Anything but Albus Potter's socked foot travelling up the inside of Draco's calf.





	A Special Place In Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I write smut at 7am while procrastinating on a bigger project.

Albus Potter's foot is an impending disaster. It really is. They're at dinner for Merlin's sake! Draco delicately dances his legs backwards, careful not to spill his wine into his soup. Al doesn't seem to care.His foot keeps inching forward until it finds it's target.

For a minute, the sole of Al's foot just rests delicately against Draco's ankle, pushing the hemming around with his socks. Draco tries to suppress a gulp. 

Dinner with the Potter's is tedious at the best of times and Draco thanks Merlin - and Morgana, come to think of it - that his son has decided not to attend this particular gathering. He has enough on his mind as it is... like the joke Mrs. Potter tosses out that Draco doesn't quite catch, or Astoria's laughter, or the tinkling of glass and the clatter of cutlery.

Anything but Albus Potter's socked foot travelling up the inside of Draco's calf. He give's Draco a devious smirk before letting his foot linger almost nonchalantly behind Draco's knee. 

For a minute, Draco can pretend everything is normal. But a minute is all Albus allows for. 

Before Draco can collect his thoughts, both of Albus' feet are draped across his lap, gently stroking down the hardening bulge in Draco's slacks. 

Draco splutters wine all down his debonair suit and Albus struggles to contain his laughter. 

Harry looks up sharply, taking notice of Draco's pink cheeks and Al's cheeky smile. 

Thankfully, he's still as dense as a plank of wood. "Albus, perhaps you'd like to show Mr. Malfoy to the restroom." Harry jerks his head to the right, giving Albus a slight, curt nod to signal that he has been dismissed. 

Al does break into a grin then, his cheeks becoming fuller, the smattering of brown freckles over his nose making him look younger than he really is. Merlin, Albus is even offering his hand. Draco almost groans from temptation but he staves it all off. Instead, he stands, rather stiffly, before allowing Albus to place a hand on the small of his back and guide him to the restroom. 

"God. My Dad never stops fucking talking." Albus groans. 

Draco almost hits his head against the sink in frustration. "Like father, like son; _Colloportus_" He thinks for a second. "This might be useful too..." Draco all but drenches Al as the tendrils of his magic snake out, wrapping around Albus as he says the silencing spell; barely audible over the sound of the zipper on his trousers. 

Draco notices how Al is slumped against the tile near the door. He's barely moved, his eyes heady and warm; trained on Draco like a cat. A heated passion that only he could produce. 

Still, he gets up, striding towards Draco on his stocking-ed feet with all the purpose of... well, a Potter. 

Only Albus could give off such a powerful radiance as he strides forward - a head and a half shorter than Draco - padding lightly in his socks. 

When their mouths meet - not for the first time - Draco lets Al explore, gripping him around the waist when the brunette goes slack beneath him. 

Albus steps back, cheeks flush and hair messy. He flips his wand from his back pocket with ease, prodding the tip lightly into Draco's stomach. "So, what're we gonna do about this."

"I could have used a cleaning charm". Draco mutters. He's almost forgotten that the wine stain is still there until he feels the fabric of his shirt sticking to his lower stomach. A dark wine stain blooms as if he's been hit by a spell. 

Albus draws his wand away tentatively, slipping it back into his pocket. He shrugs. "It's just a formality. I dunno whether Dad does it out of habit or whether he just doesn't like you at the table when Astoria and Mum are talking Quidditch."

Draco's reminded all too sharply that he wouldn't be here at all if the Harpies hadn't gotten a new manager in the form of his wife. 

He's suddenly all too aware of the hot, pliant body in front of him and all thought's about his wife go out of the window. He takes Albus by the elbows in an almost affectionate fashion and pulls him closer. Albus kisses him again, more tentative this time. More intimate. 

"Take this off." Al pulls at Draco's shirt tails insistently, pulling the fabric apart with almost shaking fingers. 

He's a good actor. 

He flushes so prettily, gracelessly pulling at Draco's buttons before removing the shirt all together. As if they haven't done this before. 

Maybe Al needs to pretend. Or maybe Draco needs Albus to pretend for him, but he can only focus on sensation once Al drops to his knees, pressing almost chaste kisses to the wine soaked skin of Draco's lower abdomen. 

The kisses become wetter, more needy, as Albus struggles with the button on Draco's slacks. Soon his trousers are undone and Al is pushing them down past Draco's slim hips, taking his boxers with him, 

"My Dad would kill you for this." Albus murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over Draco's prick as he makes a few passes over the tip. 

All too soon Al pulls away and Draco whines at the loss. Al adjusts his position on the hard floor before engulfing the head of Draco's cock. 

Draco can hardly think for the buzzing in his ears and the warm, wet mouth working over his length. 

"Shut up about your arsehole of a father for five seconds and come suck me proper- fuck." Draco's string of expletives do not stop at the word **fuck** when Albus starts earnestly sucking down, his pretty pink lips contracting around Draco's already spasming cock.

Al looks up, his bright eyes offset by his dark cheeks. He was definitely Potter's son, there's no mistaking it. Draco tightens his hand in Albus' wild hair, moaning lowly in the back of his throat. 

Al pulls off and for a second, the cool air gathering at the base of Draco's sparsely haired pelvis almost brings him back to his senses. 

"Will you come on my face Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's resolve _shatters_. Albus can undo him like no other, and come undone he does, painting Al's brown cheeks with ropes of white. 

He watches Al's pink tongue dart out to catch a few drops of come from his chin. 

Oh yes. There are special places in hell for people like him. 

Draco's senses come rushing back to him all too soon. "We have to stop doing this." His mouth is set in a thin, hard line and he hopes Al isn't paying attention to the way his jaw trembles. 

Al waits for Draco to pull his trousers up, leaving him groping around for his still-stained shirt. He sticks his head around the bathroom door once more to throw Draco another cheeky smile. 

"You say that every time Mr. Malfoy." And with that he winks, leaving Draco in the bathroom, clutching his shirt. He couldn't look like a more depraved form of devil if he tried.


End file.
